


oh, how far you are from home

by windbellows



Series: a fire that knows the naming of you [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Family, Gen, One-Shot, Worldbuilding, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windbellows/pseuds/windbellows
Summary: The sleep Link finds on their island will be nothing short of peaceful, if the Tree can help it.
Relationships: Great Deku Tree & Link (Legend of Zelda), Great Deku Tree & Lost Woods, yep that's a new one
Series: a fire that knows the naming of you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2142756
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	oh, how far you are from home

**Author's Note:**

> legend of zelda fucked up and gave me a guilt-stricken father tree  
> took a few liberties with the ww opening BUT! what can you do

On an island on the outskirts of the outskirts of the islands, the coming-of-age clothes for children are tailored in the image of a fabled bard. It’s a well-known folktale; he flew in on the winds, with a fairy perched on his hat that sang along with his tunes, and the winds flew him out as well, through smoke and flame. He wore a green tunic and hat. 

The green was once the green of forests. The Hero came from above the clouds, where tales of the expanse of woods just out of sight were favorites of children, but the bard was of the forest and he carried that with him, till the end of his days. But the forests are gone, swallowed by the Sea with the rest of the land - trees grow together where their seeds have fallen, and even more stragglers on the once-barren mountaintops remember the world before the water. Not many remember the forests. 

However, there is an island, and a special one at that; an island made of magic. Not many have found it. It houses a Tree and his children. The Sea ate the gods, but not all of them. And when the goddesses opened the floodgates to end the world the Tree, so tethered to the ground, pulled his children close and did not let go. 

The island of the Tree was once Woods, and the Tree’s old forest lies half-submerged. They came together, for they’ve always been all each other have, from the beginning of it all when Hylia tore the earth to the heavens and they took in the left-behind children. 

(The Woods lost its forest too. Its children are still alive, dancing along the ocean floor, traces of the Woods following them in wisps within the depths; for ages to come they’ll keep the leaf-like webbing between their wooden fingers;)

So it goes, and the haven of the forest lies unseen. The Tree’s children are unrecognizable to all but him. They take after their father nowadays, save for the fact that they fly on the wind light as feathers; they take after the children of the Woods more, though they craft masks to cover their bared and raw faces. Most cannot perceive them. 

The Tree almost lost them and he has not forgotten; he hasn’t forgotten his others, and he never will, till the very bitter end. She has not come home. He is gone from him forever. It’s his fault, he knows, for the Tree bears a great sin. 

(And what _good_ , he thinks, is a guardian if they cannot keep their children safe-)

But a whisper on the wind turns to a melody to an orchestra, flying like a chorus of bells and strings and a light, familiar flute - as the breeze has blown hints of song and voice to the Tree’s island, telling him of the stories and tongues as the ages pass, it also ushers a certain soul to his shores. He gets rid of the jellies. They were just an itch, really. But the Tree stares at the little boy, and dares not to hope, and does anyways. 

_Your clothes,_ he whispers, stunned. _Could it be-_

_Link, my son-_

But the child merely cocks his head, brows drawn in confusion - he has never seen a Tree before. The green of his garb is just green. His heart sinks to the bottom of the sea.

The Tree does not speak in Kokiri this time but modern Hylian, as he reintroduces himself. 

\--

The temperature of the Sea tends to seep into their island, though neither the Tree or his children tend to feel it, save for one. It’s a cold night; Link shivers, from where he lies between his roots. The Tree shakes one of his branches gently. Small leaves flutter down to cover his little boy in imitation of a blanket. 

The Tree aches, with how much he loves him, and aches with guilt just the same. 

Link’s not the same boy that left his forest so long ago. He wears his heart on his sleeve - but his face is too tired for his youth, and the Tree senses oh-so-bitterly that he’s seen enough. It’s his fault, he knows. 

_But you are but a Tree,_ the Woods would murmur. _There is not much you could do._

 _I’m his father,_ the Tree would reply, wooden heart heavy. _I could have done anything else._

The Woods would be silent. They never trusted the golden goddesses, like the Tree foolishly did. The Three never trusted them, either; the Woods are not one of their creations. But until the very end of the world it’ll always be the Woods around the Tree and the Tree within the Woods and the Tree understands how the nature of the Woods, despite everything, is one inherently protective. There is nowhere more hidden. 

The Woods has listened to the Tree weep for countless nights, quiet as not to wake his children. 

This Link - he is not the same boy that came back to the Tree with a too-tall frame. But he’s still _him_. Yet still, the Tree cannot promise Link's well-being. The young sailor had saved Makar in his stead from the drowned Forest. The mark of a chosen one shimmers around his small bards. The Tree worries. He weeps. 

It’s truly cruel, but the Tree had been cruel in turn. No one had urged Link out but him. No one but him had believed that everything would be solved when he found him a fairy. How cowardly, of a _god-_

But he is only a Tree-

But he is a _Tree_ and there is no love like that of the trees, only rivaled by mortals. Far away an old lady rocks, weeping for her children. Both of them mourn in sync. May the waterlogged gods have mercy on their children. May their fates be kinder than they are. 

In the morning Link will leave, pushed by prophecies he doesn’t understand. He wants to save his sister. He is the Hero of a story long finished, a story denied an ending. But the sleep he finds here will be nothing short of peaceful, if the Tree can help it. 

_I will make this place a home for you,_ he vows. _You’ll find a home at last in my forest, no matter how long it takes._

The most simple of wishes, of a forlorn god. 

Golden triangles and golden goddesses push a cycle of blood and hurt and heartbreak. A father grows at the center of the world, roots pushing outwards to its edges and beyond. His child will always come back to him, but they’ll never be able to stay. After times to come, he will house their greatest burden. It will take a calamity among calamities to snap a prophecy in half.

With the Tree is - _was_ \- the one place they should have felt most protected. 

_One day, I will keep you safe._

The Tree bends just slightly, blocking Link from the sky’s sight.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
